I’ve not felt well all day long.
By the time I get to the bus, the paper I have stuffed into my bag has taken on special meaning.
I take a seat near the back. There are three slices of unwrapped American cheese lying there on the floor.
I reach into my purse: My appointment for the flu shot is tomorrow at 11:45.
“If you have never had a flu shot before, you may be precautioned to not receive a flu shot now.”
I frown in confusion, something I swear off every New Year’s Eve.
Confusion is giving me wrinkles.
But man, I hate when I’m precautioned.
Still, this one bears further inspection. Riddle me this: If I’ve never had a flu shot before, and may be precautioned against getting my first one because I’ve never had one, how will I ever get a flu shot?
I lift my hand to my forehead, smooth my brows and try to think bland, cow-like thoughts.
My head hurts.
“You may receive your flu vaccine by injection or by flumist.”
Ah, my head. First “precautioned”, now “flumist”. Not two words, as in “flu mist”, a nasal mist sort of vaccination, but one word: “flumist”.
Well I’ll be danged.
Me, I’ll take the injection. I press my cheek to the cool window, close my eyes.
I like my vaccines like I like my men, I think, sharp and strictly regulated through the Food and Drug Administration.
Ha ha.
I laugh softly to myself, glance down at the slices of cheese at my feet.
Seriously?
I’ve felt better.